Memories, Make Me Want To Go Back There
by OblivionsGarden
Summary: Harry remembers his time with the girl next door. (DRABBLE)


**Title -** _Memories, Make Me Want To Go Back There_  
 **Author -** _OblivionsGarden_  
 **Genre -** _Romance/Friendship/Drama_  
 **Disclaimer -** _I do not own the Uncharted Series in anyway shape or form. I only own the plot points surrounding this work._  
 **Word Count -** _1401 words._

 **A/n -** _Finally getting around to writing more for Harry, since I always complain about how little there is written for him. Just a drabble for now but I am planning out a full fic for him. (Yay!)_  
 _Please leave a review, I'd greatly appreciate it. Hope you enjoy, xx (:_

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It had been almost ten years since he last saw her. When he was seventeen a new family had moved in next door and the young Harry Flynn hadn't thought much of it until one evening when he first heard her voice. His mother knew he was smoking, didn't like it, but rather than punish him for something she knew he's do outside of home anyway, she just told him not to do it in the house. And so he would sit in his garden on a cool evening, trying his damnedest to make a ring out of his blown out smoke. He heard a door from over the garden fence but ignored it, until he heard a slight thump against the fence and a small voice say,

"Hey, can I have one of those?"

Turning he saw the top of her head, her eyes waiting patiently for his answer. He hesitated, knowing he only had two left and he couldn't exactly afford fags as and when he needed them right now. But her eyes looked desperate and so he nodded, standing and making his way to the fence. He pulled one out and passed it over to her outstretched hand, the lighter following. He heard some shuffling and some scraping of pot on concrete and then her head popped up, fully this time so he could see her whole face. And Jesus H Christ, she was gorgeous. So much so he hadn't even realized she was handing back his lighter and speaking to him with a smile on her face. He swallowed thickly, taking the lighter and asking her to repeat herself. She had said thank you and told him her name.

"I'm, uh... Harry. Flynn." He smiled a little. "At your service."

Turned out the scraping had been her pulling along an overturned plant pot to stand on so she could see him better. Not wanting her legs to tire so they could talk for longer, Harry directed her to the very bottom of the garden, where there was a gap in the fence where a panel had been broken. Once upon a time, a much smaller Harry would crawl through to play with his best friend but he'd be lucky to get his shoulder through now. Instead they both sat down either side of it and spoke their way through their cigarettes and then shared Harry's last one. Her parents came out to find her a few hours later, scolding her for smoking again after she'd promised to quit. They also scolded Harry for encouraging it. Harry had merely smirked and welcomed them to the neighborhood, telling them his mum had planned to invite them for tea. She sniggered at that, hiding behind her dad who was only getting redder in the face the longer he spoke to Harry. Harry had panicked when he heard him tell her not to talk to him anymore but there was something in her laugh that told him she wasn't one to follow rules. And when the evening smokes became morning, afternoon, evening and whenever the hell they felt like it smokes, he knew he had been right.

And thus became their nightly routine. He'd go to smoke, she'd come and and steal one or two whilst they talked complete bollocks until one of them was tired or her dad came to scold her. They were some of the best nights of his late teens. They spoke of everything. Harry's love of history and his few brushes with the law when he had been caught stealing. Her dreams for her future and distaste for her so called 'friends' at school. She once told Harry he was her only real friend and he'd be a liar if he said his chest had puffed out in pride upon hearing those words.

He loved learning things about her over the years. Some she told him directly, others he just noticed. She told him that she painted her nails religiously to stop her from biting them raw but he noticed that when she was upset to fiddled her fingers around each other. She told him that she loved stroop waffles, which he had to ask what they were, but he noticed that other than those she didn't eat breakfast, just had a tea or a coffee depending on her mood. She told him that she couldn't wait to finish college and go and do her own thing but he noticed the relationship with her family was getting more strained. It wasn't abusive or anything, just a constant disagreement about her future. They wanted stability, a job with a future. She wanted to let herself fall into something she loved because she had no real ideas of what she wanted to do.

He told her that the only way she'd be happy is by doing what she wanted, not her parents. She had laughed and poked his ribs, asking if he was some motivational speaker now or something. She asked him what he wanted. And really, the only thing Harry had ever been good at was stealing. But he had met some new friends recently, now that he was nineteen, pushing twenty, it was time for him to leave. All he told her was that the Drake's were two brothers who stole historical artifacts and sold them. She worried about the dangers of a life like that but not once in the time they'd known each other had she ever judged his criminal side. Sometimes she seemed enthralled by it.

They both left home around the same time. Harry went off with the Drake's for a while before branching out on his own after Sam died, she went off to live alone, using money she'd saved up from jobs since she was sixteen years old. They called each other as much as they could for about a year but the phone wasn't the same as sitting in the garden and soon enough the phone calls faded from every other day to once a week to monthly until they stopped completely. He couldn't even remember who's turn it had been to call who. And why was he thinking about her now, after ten years? A slip of paper and a phone call.

He'd been sent the post from his mum, an invitation to a 30th wedding anniversary party. Then his mother had called asking if he'd got it. He didn't even recognize the names until she reminded him it was their neighbors. Almost immediately his heart had jumped in his chest. His mum was babbling on whilst Harry's mind drifted back in time until she mentioned that 'even their daughter's coming back for it. You used to be close to her, remember?' Harry had nodded, remembered she couldn't see him through the phone and promised her he'd be there. He also promised himself that this time when he saw her, he'd have the guts to ask her on a date.

That lead to him to be dressed slightly smarter than usual in a shirt and jeans. He didn't like dressing up, he always felt like a tit when he did and so as he walked down the old familiar street he rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt before he started feeling like he was choking. He stopped at his old house, walking his now elderly mother next door, her hand in the crook of his arm. She chastised him for not being smarter but he had heard it before. She even tried in vain to push back the one strand of hair of his that always seemed to escape his styling. She gave it up as they reached the door and he pressed the bell.

Inside there were lots of people all talking with each other. Some he recognized as neighbors but most he hadn't a clue who they were. He grabbed himself a beer from the kitchen and when he couldn't see _her_ , he went out in the garden for a cigarette. He'd only took two drags when he heard someone come out and join him. He glanced up and finally, there she was. Just as gorgeous as ever as she smiled up at him, no fence between them for this meeting. She gestured to his cigarette with a smirk.

"How many do I owe you?"

"About three years worth."


End file.
